


Oops

by ClockworkSpades



Series: Whoops - The Professor/Student accident [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, I definitely caved, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, professor/student, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkSpades/pseuds/ClockworkSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One month ago, Professor Arthur Kirkland and exchange student Alfred Jones made a big mistake at a chance encounter in a bar. Where embarrassment began, frustration followed, something’s got to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oops

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by the strange popularity of my supposed to be oneshot ‘Whoops’ and a fair few requests for a continuation; this. Do not expect an extended plot, this is a related/accompanying oneshot fic for ‘Whoops’ which I wasn’t supposed to write anything more for anyway so clearly I just cave to peer pressure. Anyway, I hope this is good enough for everyone.

It had been three weeks since the beginning of term, three weeks since Alfred had realised he’d fucked his professor, three weeks since Arthur had so much as batted an eyelid at him.

And Arthur Kirkland was still _hot_.

Alfred would’ve thought the shock of realising Arthur was his teacher for the year would’ve turned him off – but evidently not. The more surprising thing was he didn’t even usually find men like professor Kirkland attractive; older men, that was. There was just something about the man’s snarky charm on that Friday night that attracted him, and Alfred couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was infuriating, every lecture, every seminar; he was so distracted by his hot professor he barely remembered to take notes. Oh, it was unfair. Arthur didn’t even seem to _want_ to remember the night and he always stood there at the front of the room like the god damned sexiest thing on the planet. He knew fine and well that was not the man’s fault at all, but that didn’t stop it from being incredibly frustrating for Alfred having to sit in those lessons week in and out just to be reminded of exactly just _how_ attractive Arthur Kirkland was. But for the entire world Arthur — _professor Kirkland_ (as Alfred rightfully corrected himself, _repeatedly._ ) seemed to have genuinely and completely forgotten their encounter.

But he hadn’t. He’d tried – _Oh God had he tried_.  It was unprofessional, inappropriate, but he just couldn’t forget or, much to his embarrassment, stop thinking about it. Alfred’s number had found its way into his phone that Saturday morning and even though he knew he should, he couldn’t bring himself to delete it. Alfred was his student, and though he doubted it, even if the lad shared the same frustrations there were rules in place that rather stood in the way of student-teacher relationships and for good reason.  It was ridiculous, he shouldn’t have been thinking about it, he was an educator and a professor, the type of behaviour was unacceptable. He shouldn’t even have allowed it to happen in the first place! Though there was no real reason for him to blame himself for that, neither of them could’ve known, he still chastised himself repeatedly for allowing such a ‘slip up’ to happen. At least he had control of himself most of the time, no lingering stares at Alfred or long sighs. That was him though; he had no idea of the frequency of Alfred’s gaze finding its way to his arse whenever he turned around.

There must have been something wrong with him. Every time Arthur found his thoughts wandering back to Alfred in a non-professional way he only felt more embarrassed and ashamed. There were plenty of other men out there. Plenty of attractive, smart, charming, _age-appropriate_ men who would be far better matches for him than Alfred ever could be. It was only the most incredible of ironies that whenever Arthur was telling himself that; Alfred was reminding himself that there were plenty of young, attractive, witty, _available_ men in place of Arthur.

But it wasn’t pining that left Alfred alone in a lecture theatre after a lesson. Usually he managed to get his questions answered through the session or early before the other students, but his notes had fallen and he’d spent more time picking up his notebook than getting down the steps to ask professor Kirkland a question, so by the time he got there someone else had already gotten the man’s attention and he had to wait for his fellow student to finish before he could. Usually that was fine, despite either’s wants their relationship had been rather successfully professional whenever Alfred wanted something – he was a very good student, it turned out. But they were never alone, and as they realised that was exactly what was about to happen the door had already closed behind the only other remaining student’s exit.

“Mr Jones.” Arthur acknowledged, as usual doing his best to simply regard the younger man as another student, nothing else. “What can I do for you this time?”

Alfred swallowed thickly; oddly glad for once that Arthur seemed to be behaving normally. “I just wanted to give you my essay. I really appreciate you giving me an extra day.”

“You weren’t the only one having difficulties, it was only fair.” Arthur frowned at him, though when Alfred produced the sheets of paper from his bag he did take them, inspecting them without reading through the work before putting that amongst different pile of papers arranged on the desk. “You could’ve just emailed it to me.”

“Oh—I know, I was just in the library before I came here so I thought I might as well.” Alfred lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, almost embarrassed if he didn’t know that handing in his work in any format was fine as long as it was on time.

“Was there anything else?” Arthur’s eyebrow arched, quite elegant despite the look of them on his face, but Alfred had nothing more to say.

“Uh, no. Thank you, sir, I’ll go.” He nodded quickly, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden with nothing else to say. He turned away, beginning to head towards the exit and relative safety and freedom that lay beyond the lecture theatre. Relative.

Any time between leaving and falling asleep was ample time to find his thoughts betraying him and wandering back to that night a month ago. In fact, it bothered him so much he couldn’t understand how the man in question remained so calm and collected no matter what happened; even being left alone in a room together where Alfred felt uncomfortable and afraid of tripping over his words. Why did he have to deal with embarrassment and frustration and Arthur just got to forget?

He looked back over his shoulder, pausing halfway to the door with a frown just to watch the professor tuck away sheets into his briefcase. For all Alfred knew he hadn’t so much as glanced his way once he’d turned to leave, not even recognised his presence as anything other than another nameless face giving him work and receiving information, mindless and unidentifiable in a sea of faces.

It was _infuriating._

“—Are we really just going to pretend nothing happened?” Alfred’s lips moved before he could even think to stop them, words echoing through the empty lecture room and drawing Arthur’s attention to him in a wide-eyed stare.

It took him a moment to respond, eventually saying through clearing his throat; “Excuse me?”

Alfred had grown both frustrated and fed up over the weeks and whether Arthur was merely being indignant or deliberately playing dumb, he wasn’t in the mood for it. Not anymore, he was done with it. Arthur was not his professor in this situation; he was the one night stand he wanted to repeat.

“You know what I mean. I haven’t forgotten. If you have or just want to pretend it didn’t happen then fine, I’ll try to stop thinking about it.”

Arthur looked utterly dumbfounded, shocked Alfred had remembered, that he’d brought it up and overall at a loss for what to say. “I…I didn’t say I’d forgotten.” He managed, averting his gaze and hastily returning to his briefcase as Alfred walked back towards him, angling himself into his light.

“Then why act like it? If you’re fine about it then fine, but I can’t stop thinking about it and- and I want to _do_ something about it.” Adrenaline had been all keeping Alfred speaking unhindered until that moment, but when Arthur looked up and they nearly bashed heads with one another from being so close all that confidence disappeared. Perhaps because his words had inspired some such courage in Arthur.

“ _Do_ something?” Arthur repeated, tone far more deadpan and unimpressed than Alfred had hoped such a reaction would be. He felt his stomach sink, suddenly fearing he’d made a big mistake and screwed over the rest of his academic year. “And what, exactly, do you suggest we _do_ about it?”

“I-“

“Invent a memory erasing serum? Hypnotherapy? Brush the papers off the desk so you can pin me on it instead?” Alfred’s eyes flickered to the table (traitors), all that suave confidence from that Friday night gone. “What do you want from me, Jones?”

“You.” He blurted out, no smooth smirk or lingered gaze accompanying it as it might’ve had they been in that dark bar with a few drinks past them.

Arthur himself froze, how own harsh frown gone with blank shock to replace it. “—Me.”

Alfred straightened, swallowing thickly. “You.” He repeated, almost feeling shaky as he stared at Arthur. He wondered perhaps if all those bad, fictional romances were in fact true and Arthur could hear his heartbeat just as clearly as it was in his own ears. It already seemed that he’d made many mistakes that evening, adding one more couldn’t change that.

Arthur had been silent, staring at him almost unblinking as he tried to digest the exclamation. So Alfred stepped forward, sliding his hand around the back of Arthur’s neck and crashing their lips together.

In any more designed, perfect movie situation, Arthur would’ve frozen and then melted into Alfred’s arms and they would’ve made love on the desk. But it was not a movie and Arthur was not Rachel Adams and Alfred was not Ryan Gosling. They were standing in an empty lecture theatre with dying light and Alfred had just grabbed his professor and smashed their lips together in perhaps the least elegant kiss of all time. And Arthur’s hands had grabbed the front of his shirt.

The kiss was rough, battered and clumsy and overeager but Arthur’s lips were warm as Alfred remembered and guided him to a more fitting angle to match their desperation for one another. Neither even needed to ask for entrance, though Alfred’s teeth worried the skin of Arthur’s lower lip just because he remembered the man liked it and having him tug demandingly at him was all he’d wanted since the beginning of term. Familiar strangers in their tongues felt so strangely right, though clumsiness on Alfred’s part didn’t prevent either enjoying the release that physical contact they’d so desperately needed and wanted over the past few weeks brought.

Alfred had leant over so much to get closer that Arthur lost his balance and they stumbled backwards into the edge of the desk, but that was fine because their bodies were then flush together and pressing against one another despite the fact there was no more empty space to fill. Alfred’s arms had wound themselves at Arthur’s waist, keeping him close where needed and where wanted and Arthur’s hands tugged so insistently at his hair that it was all he could do not to groan into the older man’s mouth.

Winter light had interrupted the sunlight and it was dark in the lecture theatre when they broke apart, each heaving for breath and tangled up in one another so closely they could feel each rise and fall of the other’s chest. They stared at one another, apprehension in their eyes between haziness as they came back to their senses and something of a fight or flight mode kicked in.

And Arthur shoved him away.

Alfred stumbled, nearly falling to the ground with the surprise and force of it, still catching his breath too much to think to look hurt or wounded.

“Get—Get out. Get out, _now_.”

Alfred stared, brain too fuzzy to process anything as he tripped over himself to get to the door. Nothing other than a clouded register of rejection’s cool sting.

* * *

If his grades weren’t the top of his priorities, nothing would’ve dragged Alfred from his dorm to the lecture theatre that day bar the fear of his mother herself, and even then he’d face the embarrassment of being carried through campus by his Ma’ over having to look professor Kirkland in the eye.

The pain was unwarranted, he had no connection to the man other than twice physically and everything else had been professional. Perhaps attaching yourself to someone for weeks on end only to be finally rejected when what was wanted seemed finally in your grasp was setting up for pain. He’d been such a fool. How had he thought confronting Arthur was a good idea? Why had he allowed impulsivity to rule in kissing him? Why hadn’t he listened to himself when he’d said to go ask out any number of other men? Why had Arthur kissed back?

He was slumped in his usual seat, only keeping his head off the desk as a matter of politeness and flipping through his notes to take his mind of off things. He didn’t look up once throughout professor Kirkland’s lecture, absent-mindedly taking notes and telling himself he’d borrow his friend’s at the end of the class to make up for his own haphazard ones. But Arthur had to end the lecture by announcing he had their work to return, so Alfred had to slump down to the front and look Arthur in the eye to take the marked essay from him, shoving it into his bag so he wouldn’t have to read the sticky-note mocking him with a grade that Arthur would never give him for a real life presentation.

Perhaps it was best he drew himself out of the wallowing, strange metaphors aside, his room-mates were looking on in concern when he dragged himself to his room with no more than a ‘hey’ for greeting, prepared to lock himself in his room and remind himself of how much of a damn fool he was when he finally took out the paper to inspect Arthur’s only words to him.

He was a fool.

Such a fool not to notice the sticky-note on the front of his essay held an address and a time, not a note for improvement. And wallowing in his fictitious rejection had already made him twenty minutes late for a meeting he _knew_ he didn’t want to miss.


End file.
